Healed
by Yamx
Summary: After weeks of living in it, Javert still finds the world of Jean Valjean an entirely incomprehensible conundrum. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any more overwhelming… Angsty, but also fluffy. Sequel to "Wounded," but can stand alone.
1. Chapter 1

_Synopsis: After weeks of living in it, Javert still finds the world of Jean Valjean an entirely incomprehensible conundrum. And just when he thought it couldn't get anymore overwhelming… Angsty, but also fluffy. (This story can stand alone, but the backstory will be clearer if you've read "Wounded.") _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Les Misérables, nor am I making any money with this._

_Author's Note: I realize that in the book, Marius studied law. But then he never did anything with it and decided to work as a translator instead, so for story purposes it is, and always has been, medicine. _

**Healed**

Javert was leaning on the balcony, watching the stars fade in the first light of morning. He had come out here to collect his thoughts. He had been living and working in the Hôpital de la Charité for weeks now; his wound was mostly healed, only an occasional twinge reminded him of his fight with the ruffians.

Well, an occasional twinge and the fact that his life had been turned completely upside down that day. He did not exactly regret his decision to stay and work after Marius had pronounced him recovered – after all, he had a debt to pay off, and it was a point of honor with him never to let a debt slide – but the world of Jean Valjean was still a puzzling, incomprehensible and at times truly aggravating mystery to him.

He had stayed to work off the debt incurred in the weeks Valjean, his daughter, and her husband had taken care of him. Well, since treatment was free in Marius's clinic, it was more a debt he felt he'd incurred than any real black-on-white number. But he was determined to pay them back nonetheless – he would owe nothing to anyone if he could help it. And if he was honest with himself, he also had to admit that he'd felt almost glad to stay, since he had nowhere else to go except the gutter. It was not the hardship of the streets he feared, it was the pointlessness, existing day after day without accomplishing anything. The work he did here was manifestly useful; it gave his life a purpose, though not the one he'd have chosen for himself. But that confounding family refused to treat him the way he wanted to be treated – as an employee who was there to work and was boarded and fed for simplicity's sake.

Take his new room, for instance. Javert would have refused it flat-out if their initial request for him to move out of the hospital room he no longer needed had not been so entirely reasonable. The hospital rooms were set up to be efficient and easy to keep in order, and were easily accessible both from Marius's office and the big ground floor kitchen where Cosette and Valjean spent most of their time. It made no sense for a healthy man who could easily manage to climb the stairs to the attic floor to take one up.

But his new room was entirely too nice. It was spacious, had a wide _bateau lit_ with a nightstand, an iron stove, a roomy wardrobe, a well-filled bookshelf, an oak desk, a cast-iron washstand and a tall chest-of-drawers, as well as two extremely comfortable easy chairs and some other small pieces of furniture. There even were several paintings on the walls, and a soft blue rug on the floor which _matched the curtains_. None of the rooms he'd rented for himself during his police career had been anywhere near as nice, or even half as big. This wasn't how one housed an employee. In fact, his room was an almost exact mirror-image of Valjean's own, which was right across the hallway. The two rooms even shared this balcony. Marius and Cosette's room was on the other side of the house and slightly larger, but still no better in style or furnishings than his. It was inappropriate.

And it wasn't just the room. It was the entirely perplexing way he was treated by all three of them. They continually attempted to chat with him, tried to include him in their decision-making and – Heaven help – insisted that he took their "family meals" with them. It was almost like they regarded him as a long-lost uncle or cousin who finally had rejoined the family fold.

Good Lord, they probably did. None of them seemed to recall his history of hunting Valjean – and later also Cosette – all through France for years, or spying on Marius's friends during the riots. But they were only too quick to bring up his helping Valjean to get the boy home that night, or saving Cosette in the alley, or letting Valjean go when all it would have taken to arrest him was a word. Javert shook his head. Not for the first time, he wondered if they were crazy, or of it was him.

He became aware of a movement besides him and turned his head. Valjean was leaning in the doorway that connected the balcony to his own room. Javert wanted to snap "What is it?" but stopped himself and mumbled "Good morning," instead. God, he thought, living with them is starting to change me.

"Morning," Valjean replied with a smile. "Cosette asked me to get you. Breakfast's ready."

Javert straightened up, squaring his shoulders. "Of course." Suppressing a sigh, he followed Valjean downstairs. Wouldn't want to miss family breakfast.

xxxxx

Breakfast was the usual cheery affair. Cosette, though highly pregnant now – Marius estimated the birth a mere three weeks off – insisted on serving a variety of foods for everyone to choose from, and she, Marius and Valjean kept up a light conversation about things of no importance. Javert sat by quietly, listening and eating. A few times, he almost caught himself in a smile, which prompted him to take a large bite of bread and chew determinedly. He was here solely because he worked here. In no way was he enjoying the company.

As always, the others made several friendly attempts to draw him into the conversation, and as always, he responded politely, but as briefly as possible. They never pressed the point, but their actions made it abundantly clear that if he wanted to be a part of this, he would be more than welcome.

The meal finished, Cosette began collecting the dishes – she had made it very clear to the men that she was pregnant, not an invalid, and anyone trying to treat her like one would be sorry. Pregnancy had given the sweet, innocent girl an almost matronly air of command, and the mood swings she'd been having lately had taught the men that it was best not to argue with her.

Piling dirty dishes into the sink, Cosette addressed Valjean. "Papa, when you go to the market today, please make sure you get yellow apples, not red."

"The market? But, my dear, I told you... I have a meeting with Monsieur de Laglasse today, about the hospital. He's willing to make a substantial donation, but he wants to know exactly what we'd do with it. It'll probably take all day... I'm sorry, I can't go shopping for you today."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot. Well, Marius, you remember to bring the yellow kind, then." Going to the market was one of the few duties that Cosette had willingly given up. Long walks tired her, and a fiacre was both a waste of money and too uncomfortable in her condition.

Marius paused. "My love... I'm going to La Force today." It had taken a lot of M. Gillenormand's influence to get Marius permission to visit the prisoners there once a month and see to their health. Normally, convicts were allowed a doctor only in life-threatening situations. "By the time I get back, the stalls will be closed."

Cosette looked from her husband to her father with a frown. "Well, what am I supposed to do? I have six in-house patients to feed, and the four of us on top of that. There's not enough food in the house."

Javert noted that none of them asked him, or even looked at him. Since he had first come to this house, he had been reluctant to leave it. He did not want to run into a policeman he knew and be recognized. Strangely, that had never concerned him in the months immediately following the riots – but he had hardly looked like himself then. Now, washed and shaved, his sideburns carefully clipped, and his clothes mended and washed, he looked more like the Javert of old than he had in the eight months when he'd wandered Paris without aim or purpose. Running into a former colleague would invariably lead to questions that Javert did not want to answer. Though he had never said anything, his reluctance had obviously been noted, and they did not want to push him. Well, Javert thought, they may all try to coddle me, but I will not coddle myself!

"I'll go," he stated firmly.

All eyes turned to him. "Javert, you don't have to…" Valjean started, but Javert cut him off.

"I'm here to work. There's work to be done, and none of you can do it. I will go." He could feel a little of the old edge in his voice. He saw the others exchanging glances and shrugs. He was satisfied that they would not fight him on this.

"That is so kind of you, Monsieur," Cosette smiled. She handed him a basket and a list, which he read through quickly.

"It's mostly just groceries, really, and some hospital supplies. Oh, and the apples need to be..."

"... yellow, not red. I understand." Javert put the list in the basket, went to the door, opened it, and stopped abruptly. He turned back slowly.

"Is... everything else clear?" Cosette asked. "My handwriting..."

"Your handwriting is beautiful, Madame." He felt three pairs of questioning eyes on him and sighed. Quietly, almost meekly, he said. "I have no money." The shame of the admission burned his cheeks. He had never asked anyone for money in all his life. The fact that this money was meant for doing their shopping for them didn't make it any better – after all, he would eat these groceries right along with the rest of them.

"Oh no, how silly of me!" Cosette blushed and hastened towards the drawer by the stove, which served the hospital as an all-purpose household kitty. But before she even reached it, Valjean had taken his own purse from a pocket and tossed it to Javert, who caught it easily. He briefly weighed the leather pouch in his hand.

"Aren't you going to count it, Valjean?" Javert had tried to keep the sneer out of his voice, but this whole situation was just so humiliating – he knew he'd sounded much sharper than was warranted by the circumstances.

Valjean looked at him searchingly for a second, then he laughed. "I will count it, Javert, if you can name one person in all of Paris, or even in all of France, who's less likely to steal from me than you are."

With a grunt, Javert pocketed the purse, turned, and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

xxxxx

On his way back, Javert looked over the list once more to make sure he really hadn't forgotten anything. It would not do to fail in such a simple errand. Carrots, onions, apples – yellow, not red – a leg of mutton, beets, bandages, a packet of safety pins...

Suddenly, a shrill sound tore his attention away – it sounded like a screeching wail, a scream of distress, but not of human origin. Down a side street, he spotted some gamins tossing a bundle of rags back and forth – a bundle of rags that was screeching at the top of its lungs. Straightening up and throwing himself into his best inspector pose, he went closer to investigate.

"Hey, you, what have you got there?" he barked, in a commanding tone that had made hardened criminals quake in their boots.

The boys looked around at him and exchanged wary glances. "What's it to you?" the tallest and evidently oldest asked. Javert took a step closer.

Suddenly, a younger boy squealed "He's a copper! I know him, he put my old man in the slammer!" Javert glanced at him – he could not recall ever having seen the boy before, but to be fair, he had put a lot of people into prison, and he had not known all their children.

The oldest boy whistled shrilly, and all the boys turned and ran, disappearing in basements, over fences and down alleys. The bundle was left behind, lying forgotten in the dust.

Carefully, Javert prodded it with a toe; a whimpering sound and a slight wriggling were the result. Putting down his basket, he crouched next to the bundle and carefully peeled away some of the rags. A furry little head emerged and huge yellow eyes stared at him fearfully. A hiss.

Javert looked at the cat and shook his head. During his long years on duty in the streets of Paris, he'd seen many gamins grow up into thugs, thieves, drunkards, and occasionally even into honest working men. In his experience, those who displayed a taste for cruelty as boys carried it into adulthood and never became part of the last category. He had no fondness for animals himself – though he recognized the usefulness of a well-trained dog – but it would never occur to him to abuse them for sport, and he saw no point in letting this one suffer anymore than it already had.

"Let me get you out of this," he mumbled, as close to soothingly as he could manage, being entirely unused to employing that sort of tone. Carefully, he peeled back several layers of dirty rags that held the cat bound so tightly it could barely move a muscle. The cat just watched him quietly, its eyes no longer afraid.

When he was done, the cat sat up and began to groom itself. Javert looked it over. The cat – a female, he noted in passing – was a brown tabby with white paws, quite clean and not too scrawny for a street cat. There didn't seem to be any injuries – the gamins probably hadn't had their "toy" for long.

He stood, picked up the basket, and left.

xxxxx

Both Valjean and Marius returned late that evening, so Cosette and Javert had to handle the in-house patients' dinner by themselves. It was not one of Javert's favorite tasks, especially since old Mère Suzette, an eighty year old woman so weak that she needed to be spoon-fed, insisted on flirting with him the entire time. Her comments and pointed looks were so outrageous that she had actually managed to make him blush more than once, which made her cackle happily every time. Still, Javert stoically plowed on with his task. He had never shirked a duty just because of personal discomfort. Nevertheless, he was glad when he was done. He quickly collected all the dishes, returned to the kitchen, and piled them into the sink, preparing to wash them.

"Ah, Monsieur, that's all right, I'll do it," Cosette said with a smile.

"I don't mind."

"I know, but really, I'd much rather if you could split some firewood for us. I know it's getting dark, but we're almost out and..."

Javert simply nodded, lit a lantern and went to the shed. As he was crossing the courtyard, he saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eyes. He looked around, but could not see much by the dull light of the lantern. For a second, though, he thought he saw something brown-and-white dashing under a bush.

When he reached the shed, he noticed the bloody and gory remains of two mostly-eaten rats lying near the door. With a disgusted scowl, he picked them up with a shovel and buried them in the compost heap.

xxxxx

Late that evening, when Valjean and Marius had finally returned, Cosette started preparing dinner for the family and Javert. Of course, they would dine together, as they did every night. At the beginning of his time here, Javert had tried to point out that it would be more appropriate for him to eat by himself, but they wouldn't hear of it. In fact, when he had tried to take matters into his own hands by taking his food to the old bench and table in the laundry room, they had simply followed him there, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Javert had felt mortally embarrassed, watching them all balancing precariously on the rickety furniture that was normally only used to sort laundry before washing it in the huge wooden tub, knowing fully well that they were doing this solely for his sake. He had not said anything, but from then on, he had taken his meals with them at the large kitchen table, or in the small dining room on Sundays, without complaint.

Valjean helped Cosette with dinner while Javert helped Marius to put away his supplies and transcribe his notes on the convicts' health. When they returned to the kitchen, Javert sat down in his customary place across from Valjean, while Marius walked over to his wife and swept her up in a hug.

Cosette laughed and gave him a quick kiss. "You're late, my love, you must be hungry."

"Starving. What's for dinner, my sweet?"

Cosette smiled and lifted a pot lid. "I made the mutton stew Monsieur Javert is so particularly fond of."

At the mention of his name, Javert looked up, surprised.

Cosette noticed his looked and asked worriedly "You do like it, don't you, Monsieur?"

"Well, yes... I just..." Javert cleared his throat, confused. "I wasn't aware that I had mentioned that, Madame."

"You didn't," Cosette said.

Javert looked at her questioningly, but she just smiled mysteriously and began filling their bowls.

Marius laughed. "She did this to me, too. We'd barely lived together a month when she knew all my likes and dislikes, including those I hadn't been previously aware of myself."

"Cosette reads people well," Valjean added by way of explanation. He was smiling proudly.

"Oh. I wonder whom she gets _that_ from," Javert said, raising an eyebrow at Valjean.

Valjean tried to smile modestly, but then broke into a wide grin. "I may have rubbed off on her over the years, a little..."

Cosette laughed lightly and pressed a kiss on her father's cheek. "Whoever said blood was thicker than water didn't know what they were talking about." She set down his bowl and Javert's as Marius brought hers and his own.

Valjean said grace, and they began to eat. Javert had to admit that he enjoyed the savory stew very much. But nevertheless, he felt compelled to speak up against this newest instance of him being treated as more than an employee. "Madame really shouldn't have gone to the trouble on my account." He was not at all comfortable with the idea of these people knowing him well enough, and caring about him enough, to fix his favorite meal just to please him. At least he was trying not to be. But deep down there was a certain feeling of warmth at the thought that someone actually… No. He was appropriately grateful, that was all. It wasn't as if he wanted to be close to these people, or to anyone. He never had been, and he certainly saw no reason to start now.

Cosette shrugged it off. "Oh, it wasn't any trouble. It's quite an easy meal to fix, really. One of the first they taught us in the convent."

Javert looked up sharply. "Convent?"

Cosette nodded. "The convent of the Petit-Picpus. Where I grew up," she explained.

Javert looked at his bowl for a second, then fixed his eyes on Valjean. They had become the cold, calculating eyes of the hunter that Valjean had not seen on him since the barricades.

Valjean fought an urge to shrink away. He sent Javert a small, almost apologetic smile, and shrugged his shoulders.

Finally, Javert looked away. He shook his head slightly and stared at his hands, which were opening and closing in a convulsive motion. "I'm an idiot," he spat.

"Javert…" Valjean began hesitantly.

"I knew you could practically walk up walls! I knew you had stolen a rope from that lantern! And yet, I sent my men to look over garden walls in the Cul-de-Sac Genrot, and I never even spared a thought on the convent."

Cosette and Marius were exchanging worried glances, Cosette biting her lip, obviously feeling guilty about the tension she had inadvertently caused. To her, the nightly flight through Paris and the scaling of the wall were only vague specks of memory, no more real than dreams. She had not considered that to Javert and her father, this was a key episode of their shared history – their history as hunter and quarry.

Javert's gaze focused on Valjean again. "Then what?" His anger was carefully controlled, his voice the sharp, searching instrument of the skilled interrogator.

"We lived there until…" Valjean began.

"No. One does not simply walk into a convent. Particularly that one. There would have been an uproar if a man had just appeared in their midst." Javert's eyes were still searching and cold. "How did you do it?"

Valjean sighed. "You remember Fauchelevent?"

"With the cart? Yes."

Valjean nodded. "After that… incident, his leg remained stiff, so he couldn't work as a carter anymore. I found him a position…"

"… as a gardener in Paris. I remember. In a… convent. Are you saying you had actually _planned _this?"

"No," Valjean admitted immediately. "I had no idea what wall I was climbing. I just wanted to get away from…" He did not finish the sentence. He did not need to. "And I was as surprised to see Fauchelevent as he was to see me. But he felt he owed me, so… he told the Mother Superior I was his brother, Ultime, and convinced her to hire me as a second gardener, and to take in Cosette as a student."

"But how did he explain your presence in the garden?"

"He didn't. I…" Valjean glanced at Marius and Cosette uncomfortably. Neither one of them had heard this story. But under Javert's sharp gaze, he felt compelled to speak on. "One of the nuns died that night. I forget her name."

"Mother Crucifixion," Javert said without hesitation. At Valjean's surprised look, he shrugged. "I made it my business to know everything that happened in that quarter for weeks after you disappeared. And I rarely forget a name."

Valjean nodded. "Well, anyway, her dying wish had been to be buried in the chapel, but it was against the law to do so…"

"With good reason." Javert was liking this story less and less.

Valjean looked down and continued. "Well… the Mother Superior had decided to grant her last request. But to do so, and not arouse suspicion, the coffin sent by the authorities would have to be returned, and buried at Père Lachaise… and there would have to be something in it. Fauchelevent told her he'd fill it with earth and stones, but…"

Javert's eyes gleamed with sudden understanding. "I remember that funeral procession. I took off my hat to that funeral possession." His voice was brittle with bitterness.

Cosette reached for Marius's hand, blanching at the story of her father's ordeal. She was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

Glancing at her, Valjean decided to skip over the most gruesome details of that day. "When we reached the cemetery, Fauchelevent tricked the grave digger into leaving and got me out. We then returned to the convent with Cosette, whom he'd carried out in a basket the day before." He looked back at Javert, who still seemed tense, poised for attack like a panther. Valjean's eyes were imploring, pleading for he knew not what – forgiveness? Understanding? At the time, he had done what he felt he had to to protect Cosette, and yet he was keenly aware that in doing that one big right, he had committed many small wrongs, not least on the man before him. He wanted to say he regretted them, but he knew that in the same situation, he would do it all again in heartbeat.

Javert's gaze was still locked on his. He was listening, absorbing every detail, going over the events of those days hour by hour, yes, even minute by minute. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "I see," he said, and resumed eating, staring into his bowl.

"'I see?' Is that all?" Valjean's voice was more shocked than relieved.

Javert looked up at him again. "What more would you have me say? I should have seen it, I didn't, I'm a fool, you won. Congratulations."

"No, I… I meant to say… I'm sorry, Javert."

"Sorry? What on Earth for? You did what you had to. You ran, you hid, you deceived. That's the fugitive's job. It's the policeman's job to see through those plans, preempt them, foil them. We both knew how the game is played. You played it better." The admission burned like a red-hot iron, but Javert had always been too honest not to stand by his failures. He could not change what had happened that night, but he would not add insult to injury by trying to make excuses for himself.

Valjean was looking back at him, his eyes liquid puddles of guilt and regret. Javert wanted to laugh at him, to tell him he was being silly, that after all it had not been personal. But he would not lie about this, either. After Montreuil, it had always been personal.

"I wonder," Cosette spoke up quietly, staring at her hands which were folded over the very visible proof of her pregnancy in a protective gesture, "I wonder, Monsieur, if, looking back at it today, you still regret so very much that you weren't successful that night." She looked up at Javert, her eyes imploring.

Javert held her gaze briefly, then he looked down. "Madame, less than a year ago, I was very certain about a lot of things that I have since come to learn were wrong. And I'd be a hypocrite to now say I wish that your father had been taken from you and returned to the galleys, and that you had been brought up in a state orphanage. I do not wish that." He sighed. "But I do wish I had not failed so badly in my duty yet again." His voice was a mere whisper when he added, "You see, it's the one thing I was ever good at."

"It was the one thing you ever let yourself try, Monsieur." Cosette looked at him, and her lips slowly curled into a warm smile. "I think we're all learning that there are many things you could be good at if you'd allow yourself to be."

Javert looked away. He felt his ears burn and knew his face was turning dark red. God, these people. They had a talent to make him feel so vulnerable, so open to attack, so… naked.

Once he had composed himself somewhat, he looked up again, and saw Cosette and Marius eating contently, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and Valjean smiling at him with warm support and without a hint of reproach or ridicule.

He sighed. Sometimes, he wished that once they had him at his most vulnerable, they'd just pounce and destroy him with the attack he was left wide open to. But whenever he was at his weakest, they lavished warmth and support on him and made him feel…. God, he could not admit this. But neither could he lie to himself.

Safe. They made him feel safe.

Paradoxically, this simple fact scared him beyond all reason.

xxxxx

As soon a dinner was over, Javert went outside. Normally, he helped Cosette clean up after meals, but today he needed to be alone. The others accepted this without question, and Javert had to admit to himself that sometimes, he was glad not to be treated like an employee after all.

He sat on the bench by the back door and sighed, hiding his face in his hands. What was happening to him? How could he make it stop? Did he want it to stop?

Suddenly, he felt something pushing against his shins. Looking down, he saw a brown-and-white tabby cat rubbing against his legs, her tail straight in the air. She looked up at him, and he recognized her as the cat the gamins had been mistreating in the alley.

"So you followed me home, huh?" Home? Was he admitting that this was his home? To a cat?

The cat purred and jumped up next to him, now pushing her head against his shoulder. Javert figured it had to be some sign of affection. Carefully, he lifted a hand and reached to pat the cat's head.

With a scream, the cat shot off the bank and disappeared in the bushes.

"Hey – I wasn't going to hurt you…" For a second, Javert felt disappointed, then that feeling gave way to anger at himself for even caring what a street cat thought of him. He, who for decades had carefully cultivated a demeanor that made grown man tremble under his gaze, now felt disappointed that an animal feared him.

He heard the door open and looked around. Valjean, of course.

"Is everything all right? I heard something."

"Yes, I was just…" Unable to admit that he had been talking to a cat, Javert made a vague gesture and turned away.

Valjean hesitated. "Do you need… anything?"

Javert shook his head.

"Good night, then. I'll see you in the morning…"

Javert nodded. After a moment, he realized that Valjean was not leaving. He turned to him again. "What?"

Valjean's eyes spoke volumes. The man was worried about him. Worried that he might be shaken enough to do something stupid… again.

Javert sighed. "I will still be here in the morning, Valjean."

Valjean looked at him searchingly for a minute, then he simply nodded and left.

What bothered Javert the most was knowing that had he asked him to, Valjean would have been glad to sit with him and talk.

No. What bothered Javert the most was that he almost had asked.

xxxxx

Not long after Valjean, Cosette and Marius came outside to bid him good-night before going to bed. Marius offered to bring him a lantern, but he declined. Javert continued to sit outside, staring into the darkness, trying to order his thoughts.

He had been sitting there for almost an hour when the cat reappeared – apparently out of thin air – and stared at him. Javert looked at her, but made no movement. The cat jumped up on the bench and sat next to him again. Javert watched her impassively. After a short while, the cat suddenly tensed, straightening up as if she'd heard something Javert hadn't. A jump, a pounce and a sharp squeak later, she was standing in front of him, dropping a freshly-killed mouse onto his boot.

Javert stared at it in disgust. But then he raised his eyes slightly and looked at the cat again. She was making no move to eat her prey. "Is this… do you mean to make me a present?"

The cat said nothing, as those of her species normally do, and started cleaning herself meticulously.

Javert looked from the freshly killed rodent to the huntress, who was ignoring both him and her prey. He sighed. "You too, huh? Everyone's falling all over themselves to be good to me, help me, make me feel like a part of the family…" He shivered, though the summer night was mild. The cat looked at him attentively, purring quietly. Javert shook his head. "I'm really not that likable, you know? Ask anyone." The cat jumped up next to him again and headbutted his shoulder. He sighed once more. "Anyone who doesn't live in this house, that is." The cat paid him no mind, instead curling up tightly on the bench, her back pressed against his thigh.

"You know," Javert kept talking, because at least the cat wouldn't interrupt him with reassurances or apologies, "Sometimes I wonder… They were right about so many things I was wrong about. Maybe if I could just give in, let them change me, maybe I could be whatever it is they seem to see in me." The cat's tail flicked slightly, but she made no other comment. Javert shook his head. "But I can't. I'm not that flexible. I… I tried to kill myself once rather than letting go of my cherished set of beliefs. Which was foolish, of course, but… God, sometimes I still wish… it would have been so much easier." Ever since he had come to live in this house, every day he had felt confused, unsettled, and thoroughly overwhelmed. He, who for over 50 years had never entertained a single doubt, now found himself doubting everything, every day. Even himself. Especially himself. Sometimes he thought the strain would tear him apart.

The cat got up, slowly stretched out and jumped off the bench. With a final headbutt to his shins and a small purr, she strolled off into the bushes.

Javert shook his head at himself. _Now_ what am I doing, he thought, sitting out in the dark talking to a cat? I am going crazy. I have to stop being such a ninny and remember what I really am. With a derisive snort, he got up, kicked the dead mouse into the bushes, and entered the house. After quickly checking that all the doors and windows were shut up properly, and looking in on the patients to make sure they were all sleeping peacefully, he went to bed.

xxxxx


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, he came downstairs later than usual; the others had already finished breakfast. He noticed that nobody had come to get him this time – they'd probably intended to just let him sleep after his late night. When he entered the kitchen, the conversation stopped abruptly and they exchanged glances. They bade him good morning in their usual warm fashion, but he noticed a certain tension, and steeled himself for whatever might be coming.

It was Marius who spoke up first. "Monsieur, I would like to assure you again that the work you do for the hospital is invaluable to us. Without your help, we three could never manage it, especially with Cosette being so delicate now" – he received a light slap on the arm from his wife for that remark – "and we would have had to hire someone long ago. Probably at least two people, given the way you work." He smiled warmly.

Javert watched him guardedly. He inclined his head slightly. "I'm glad to be of use, Monsieur le docteur."

"Well, yes, and you are. Which is why we've decided that… Well…" he looked at Valjean for help.

The older man continued for him. "We've been talking about how you should be paid, Javert. It is not right that you have to walk around without a sou to your name when you spend each day working hard morning to night."

So they'd noted his acute embarrassment the day before when he had had to borrow Valjean's purse, and were now trying to help with that. Javert straightened up, watching Valjean, his face unreadable.

Valjean pushed on. "We know that this isn't easy for you, so we've come up with two options you can choose from."

Choose? Choose what? Javert raised an eyebrow questioningly, still refusing to comment otherwise.

"If you'd prefer, we can simply agree on suitable wages and pay you every week. Or – and just so you know, this is what we would all prefer – you could just do what we do. Take whatever money you need, be it for hospital supplies or for things you need for yourself, from the kitchen drawer." He nodded his head towards the stove, but Javert did not look around. He knew exactly what drawer Valjean meant. Confused by his complete lack of reaction, Valjean pressed on. "I mean, it's what we do. We don't pay ourselves salaries, we just make sure there's always money in there for petty expenses, and we all trust each other not to spend it frivolously. Just buying the necessities of life, and an occasional treat – well, what I'm trying to say is we trust you, too. We know you wouldn't overdo it. So we'd like you to just take some money whenever you need it, like any other member of the family…"

Finally, Javert could not take it any longer. "Member of the family?" he scoffed. "Pay me? Have you forgotten that I am here to pay you? Am I the only one who remembers that my _only_ purpose in being here is to reimburse you for the cost incurred by taking care of me when I was injured?" He was smiling, but coldly, pure mockery written over his features.

He looked around at three anxious faces. Marius seemed about to speak, but he ignored him. With a snort, he said, "I'm not your family member. I'm not your charity case. What on Earth do you think this is, 24601?"

"Do not call him that!" All three men jumped at Cosette's shrill cry. In a few steps, she crossed the kitchen and stood mere inches from Javert, glowering up at him. "Do not call him that or I swear you'll be sorry!" She put her hands on her hips and pulled herself up to her full height, which was still a good two heads shorter than Javert.

Javert stared down at the girl. Were it not for her pregnancy, she would not be half his weight. He was attempting to process that this slight being was actually trying to physically intimidate him – she seemed perfectly serious, and furious enough to follow through. And really, what recourse did he have? It wasn't like he'd never put his hands on a woman – but they had been criminals resisting arrest. There could be no thought of raising his hand to a respectable woman like Cosette, of course. Not knowing what else to do, Javert took a step back.

Cosette followed, and grabbed the front of his shirt. "My father is not your prisoner anymore. You had that option, you reneged. You have lost the right to treat him with such…such… contempt."

Javert breathed in sharply. Had Cosette gone insane? She was livid, actually shaking with anger. Behind Cosette, he saw Marius and Valjean staring, frozen in place. Valjean tried to speak up, soothingly saying "Cosette, dearest…" but his daughter ignored him.

"People are not numbers, Monsieur Javert. You will call my father by his name."

Finally, Javert nodded, and simply said "Yes, Madame." It was not like there was anything else he could do. When she showed no sign of letting go, he added, "I'm sorry."

"It's not me you need to apologize to!" Cosette said, her eyes boring into his. Vaguely, Javert longed for the times when almost everyone he knew was afraid of him. At Cosette's impatient glare, he straightened up slightly, his eyes seeking Valjean. He kept his voice perfectly steady. "I am sorry, Valjean. I should not have called you that."

Valjean was still staring at his sweet angel of a daughter who seemed to have been transformed into a fierce angel of vengeance right in front of his eyes. "That's all right," he mumbled distractedly.

Cosette spun around so quickly she ripped Javert's shirt slightly. "It is not 'all right'! But since Monsieur promises not to do it again, it's no longer a concern." She turned back to Javert. "Isn't that right, Monsieur?"

Javert nodded mutely.

"Fine, then." With a final huff, Cosette stomped out of the kitchen, leaving three very confused men in her wake.

Valjean spoke up first. "God, Javert, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over her…"

"It's the pregnancy," Marius quickly added. "She's been having mood swings – it's quite normal for women in this condition, especially towards the end. But Monsieur, she certainly shouldn't have… I do apologize."

Javert, who had been staring at his feet all this time, looked up at them both. "No. Madame was quite right. It was boorish of me. I will not do it again." Walking very erect, he strode past them and left through the back door, again seeking the solitude of the bench in the yard.

xxxxx

He had barely sat down when he heard a familiar meow and saw the cat coming towards him, thankfully not carrying any gifts this time. She jumped up and sat next to him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Despite himself, Javert extended his hand again, and this time, she sniffed it briefly and then pressed against it, allowing him to pet her. Javert carefully stroked the cat's head, then her back, listening to her loud purrs. He did not know why, but it made him feel better, and took some of the sting out of the humiliation he had just endured.

A short while later, the door opened and Valjean stepped outside. The cat eyed him warily, but instead of running away, she pressed herself closer to Javert. He had to smile. The thought that someone was seeking protection from him against Valjean, rather than the other way around, amused him. Even if it was just an animal.

Valjean cleared his throat, and Javert looked up at him. For a moment, he felt slightly embarrassed at having been caught with his cat – His? Where had that come from? – but then he realized that after the scene in the kitchen, this embarrassment was a mere drop in the ocean. He noticed that Valjean was carrying a plate, which he now held out hesitantly.

"You didn't have breakfast."

Javert recognized the olive branch, and took it. "Thank you." The plate contained several slices of bread, cheese, and an apple.

Valjean gestured towards the bench. "May I?"

"It's your house," Javert said, sounding harsher than he had intended. "I mean, yes."

Valjean sat on Javert's side opposite from the cat, who had apparently decided that he posed no threat and was cleaning herself peacefully. Javert offered her a small piece of cheese, which she gobbled up eagerly. Javert gave her another. For a while, both men just watched her in silence, Javert eating his breakfast.

"Nice animal," Valjean opened carefully.

Javert nodded.

"What do you call her?"

"Cat."

"Umm… don't you think you should give her a name?"

Javert sighed. "Is this what you've come out here to discuss, Valjean?" He raised an eyebrow ironically.

Valjean smiled slyly. "Well, I had this whole clever segue planned about the importance of names, but if you'd rather I cut right to the chase…"

For a moment, Javert stared at him, speechless. Then he chuckled. Valjean's smile widened into a grin, and Javert started to laugh – at himself, at Valjean, at the sheer cheek of the man, and even at the ridiculousness of what had happened in the kitchen. He laughed, and Valjean laughed with him, and suddenly the sting was gone. The cat looked at both of them with an expression that clearly indicated she thought them insane, left the bench with a majestic leap and sauntered off into the bushes.

When they had calmed down, Javert smiled – a real, open smile. "I meant what I said in there. She was right, and I am sorry."

Valjean smiled back, and put his hand on Javert's shoulder for a moment. "I know. I meant what I said, too. It's all right."

Javert felt it would have been ungracious to shrink from the touch, so he sat still. He shook his head slightly. "Just like that?"

Valjean nodded. "I understand why you did it."

Javert frowned. "What do you mean?"

Valjean shrugged easily. "You only call me 24601 when you feel we're getting too close, when you need to distance yourself. Like when I call you a member of a family you don't want to be a part of…"

Javert made to protest, but stopped to think it over. "I suppose…yes. That is why... " He sighed and shook his head slightly, a rueful smile playing on his lips. "Have I ever told you that you read me too well?"

"Occasionally." Valjean grinned. Then his face suddenly turned serious. "But Cosette… she shouldn't have done that. I'll talk to her once she's calmed down."

"Don't. Not on my account. She was right."

"Well… yes. But it's not what she said, it's how. You're a grown man, and she told you off like a schoolboy."

Javert shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I can take a rebuke." The rueful smile returned to his lips and he looked at Valjean. "You know this about me."

Valjean returned the smile with an equally rueful one of his own and began to reply, but at this moment, the cat reappeared, and sat down just a few paces from the men. A big rat was dangling from her mouth, dripping blood. She hunkered down and began to gut the rodent.

"Ah, I can see why you like her." Valjean turned back to Javert.

Javert arched an eyebrow questioningly.

"A cat who knows how to get her rat. Of course you'd respect that."

Javert smiled again. He looked over to the cat, looked back at Valjean, and simply stated "Minette."

Valjean raised an eyebrow. "As in 'Patron'?"

Javert nodded. "She picks her victims to the bone. And she does most of her hunting at night."

Valjean looked slightly doubtful, but nodded. "Nice name."

The door opened again, and the two men turned around. It was Cosette. She was looking down, clutching a small bundle.

"Cosette, child, are you… feeling better?" Valjean asked carefully.

Cosette nodded. "Papa, could I please talk to Monsieur Javert? Alone?" she asked quietly.

Valjean threw a brief glance at Javert, who nodded, and got up. "Of course, dear. I'll be inside if you need anything." With a glance to Javert, he added "Either of you." He closed the door.

Javert quickly got up and offered Cosette the bench. She sat, putting the bundle down, but indicated that he should sit beside her. He hesitated, but complied when he saw the mute entreaty in her eyes.

"Monsieur Javert…" Cosette began, her voice shaking.

"Madame, please," Javert said hastily. "It is quite all right."

"No! I…I…I'm so sorry." She tried to wipe the tears from her eyes.

Javert said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone, "Madame, please, don't be upset. I can take being told off. And besides, you were completely right in what you said."

Cosette sobbed. Feeling helpless, Javert took her hand and patted it, mumbling "It really is all right, Madame…"

"The way I spoke to you – and my entire point was that people deserve respect, and… I don't know how I could… I've never spoken to anyone this way in my life." Her cheeks were bright red with shame.

"It is my understanding that pregnancy can affect women this way." Not for the first time today, Javert felt overwhelmed. He suspected this extreme remorse might be the result of another mood swing, but nevertheless this conversation reminded him too much of another woman who had been sobbing and begging his forgiveness, ten years ago in the Montreuil-sur-Mer police station. For some reason, Cosette had never looked this much like her mother to him before. Maybe because he had never seen Fantine happy.

After a while, Cosette calmed down, and looked at him earnestly. "I stand by what I said, Monsieur, but I beg your forgiveness for the way I said it. It was outrageous of me, and there's no excuse."

Javert tried to smile at her encouragingly. "Madame, I assure you, there are no hard feelings. We both erred in the way we acted."

Cosette smiled shyly, and held out the bundle that had been lying next to her. "I've been waiting for a moment to give these to you. I knew you wouldn't accept them as a token of my friendship, but I hope you'll take them now as a token of apology."

Javert took the bundle and looked at it, puzzled. He unfolded it and discovered two brand-new linen shirts and a pair of black pants not unlike the ones he was wearing, but in excellent condition, as well as two pairs of freshly knitted grey wool socks.

"I think they should fit you. I'm quite good at sewing by estimation. But if they don't, I can easily make them fit."

Javert sighed. Cosette was right – at any other time, he would have flat-out refused such a gift. But she had only just stopped crying. Hesitantly, he began "Madame, it's really not necessary…"

"Oh, you know it is, Monsieur Javert. The only clothes you own are the ones you're wearing, and those are still the original ones you jumped into the Seine with!"

Javert flinched slightly at the memory, but couldn't deny the truth of her words.

"You wash them at night in your room because you can't put them in with the rest of the laundry, since you have nothing else to wear. Even you need at least one change of clothes, Monsieur, no matter how unassuming you're trying to be. Besides, I just tore your only shirt, and I don't think I can mend it again." Her voice was warmly entreating, but there was still a slight edge of distress to it that Javert did not want to push. Besides, every word she said was true.

"Thank you very much, Madame. I appreciate your kindness." He could take another hit to his pride, if it made her happy. And the thought of wearing some fresh clothes for a change, clothes not consisting of more patches than original material, was admittedly appealing.

She smiled, suddenly relieved. "Thank you, Monsieur." She squeezed his hand and held it for a moment. Then she looked across him to the other end of the bench. "Now, won't you introduce me to your little friend?"

Javert realized the cat had jumped up again and was resting with her head on his thigh. He smiled, and to his own surprise felt almost not embarrassed at all. "Madame, this is Minette." He quickly told her the story of how he had saved her from the gamins, and had realized later that she had followed him home.

Cosette laughed. "I see you're making a habit of saving young ladies in alleys now." She thought for a moment. "There's a little yellow bowl in the cupboard that I never use for anything…and we have some milk in the pantry… I have an old basket I could give you… maybe with a pillow. We could put it next to your desk, or on the trunk at the foot of your bed…" She pursed her lips thoughtfully.

Javert shook his head. These people had a habit of moving too fast for him. "Madame, that won't be necessary. She lives out here; I won't bring her inside. This is a hospital."

"Ah, it will be fine as long as you keep her out of Marius's surgery."

"No," Javert insisted, "She will stay out here."

Cosette smiled, and for a second Javert imagined he had actually seen her wink at the cat. "We'll see."

xxxxx

Over the next few days, both Cosette and Valjean developed an unfortunate habit of forgetting to close the back door when coming in from the yard. Frequently, Javert would walk through the hospital on some errand and suddenly find himself confronted with a small furry face and a friendly meow. Every time, he carefully picked Minette up and carried her outside; she used those opportunities to snuggle up to him and get fur all over his new shirts. He did not, however, bring up the topic with the others. He figured there was no point – Valjean and Cosette could be at least as stubborn as he was. More importantly, he noted that since that fateful conversation in the kitchen, none of them had mentioned that silly idea of paying him, and he was concerned any serious discussion started by him might make them bring it up again. Besides, Minette wasn't causing any problems. Even Monsieur le docteur didn't mind having her around, and the patients, especially old Mère Suzette, always seemed positively happy when they received a little furry visitor.

Everything else seemed to be back to the way it had been – with the exception that Javert now occasionally participated in conversations at family meals, and found himself looking forward to them rather than dreading them. He first thought that something about the way the family acted towards him had changed, but, on closer observation, came to realize that they treated him exactly the way they had from the first day. Therefore, he concluded that it must be him. He was still not truly comfortable here, certainly, but somehow, he no longer felt as unsettled and threatened by their frequently puzzling behavior.

At night, when he went outside to be alone for a while – and to bring Minette a little yellow bowl of milk at Cosette's insistence – he sometimes wondered if this was the beginning of the change he had thought himself incapable of making. But he always quickly rejected that idea – he wasn't changing, it was simply that he was beginning to trust them not to take advantage if he showed any weakness or allowed even the slightest injury to his pride.

It never occurred to him that the two things might be the same.

xxxxx


	3. Chapter 3

A few days later, Javert was once more helping Cosette take care of the patients' supper, and suffering through more of Mère Suzette's outrageous flirting. While the old woman cackled at him and made raunchy comments, he tried to distract himself by staring out the window. Dark clouds were rolling in.

"Looks like a storm," he mused, more to interrupt her incessant teasing than out of any real interest in discussing the weather.

"Oh yes, my deary, that's a good one rolling in. I can feel it in my bones, believe you me! This one'll break ere the half hour's out!" Mère Suzette grinned at him toothlessly. "Can I sit on your lap if I get scared, darling?"

Javert felt his face turn red. He busied himself by stirring her bowl. His thoughts wandered to Marius and Valjean, who were out attending a soirée at M. Gillenormand's house, hoping to raise donations for the hospital from his rich and generous friends. But if the storm broke soon, it would probably be over by the time they had to make their way home.

Mère Suzette painfully raised her trembling hand and patted Javert's arm. "Fine strong man like you…" she cackled, "and still blushes prettily like a schoolgirl."

Javert knew he was growing even redder. The fact that she was clearly undressing him with her eyes did not help. "Would you like some more?" he asked, forcing himself to keep the growl out of his voice.

"Ah… if saying 'yes' means you'll keep spoonfeeding me, I'm ready to eat a horse, lover."

Javert sighed, and gently lifted another spoonful to her mouth. She swallowed, and blew him a kiss, her eyes glittering with mischief. Javert sternly reminded himself that this woman had born twelve children and lost them all to sickness or starvation before they reached their majority, so that now in her old age, torturing him was the only joy left to her. He set his mouth in a firm line and kept feeding her.

xxxxx

Mère Suzette had been right – Javert had barely cleared away her dishes when the storm broke. The sky was pitch black, and booming thunder rolled through the streets. Torrential rain hammered down, and soon even turned into hail. Javert went around the hospital, latching all the shutters and making sure the windows were closed tightly.

On his way back to the kitchen, he noticed Minette slinking along the hallway. She stared up at him with huge yellow eyes that seemed to beg him not to throw her out in this weather. Javert sighed and stopped. "It's all right. This once. We'll just pretend I didn't' see you." The cat seemed to understand and starting rubbing up against his legs.

Suddenly, Javert heard a strangled voice from the kitchen. "M…Monsieur Javert? Help!" He took off running, leaving behind a very confused feline. What had happened? Had some vagabonds forced entry into the hospital to find shelter from the storm? Maybe taken the opportunity to rob them?

As he burst through the kitchen door, he saw Cosette holding on to the counter, looking pale. She was alone.

"Madame? Are you unwell?" Javert approached her quickly.

"I…. I think my water broke." Cosette stated weakly.

Javert looked down and noticed a puddle of glossy liquid at Cosette's feet. "It would appear so." He fought hard to keep the panic out of his voice. This wasn't supposed to happen! Not for two weeks! Not with Marius out! Not with nobody but him… Dear God, what was he supposed to do?

Cosette answered that question, at least for the immediate moment. "I…I think I need to lie down," she whispered, and doubled over with the pain of what Javert supposed had to be a contraction. With a mumbled "Begging your pardon," he swept her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs to the closest hospital room – incidentally the same one he had stayed in while recovering from his wound. He set her down on the bed, and took a deep breath. What now?

"Marius… I want Marius…" Cosette said, her teeth clenched with the pain of another contraction.

Javert's mind was racing. Marius and Valjean weren't expected home for hours yet, and in this storm they would definitely not return early. There were no gamins on the streets, no coaches – everyone had found shelter somewhere. So there was no way of getting a message to them, unless he went himself, and in this storm, it could easily take him hours to get there – there was no way he could leave Cosette alone that long. He put on his best reassuring smile. For the first time in his life, he wished he was a better liar. He would have loved to tell her, "Your husband will be here soon," just to take the fear from her eyes, but he knew that he couldn't do it, or at least couldn't do it convincingly. "Excuse me for just one minute, I will go get some –" God, what did one need during a birth? "– supplies," he finished weakly, and hastened to Marius's office. His eyes flew over the books, looking for anything that might be useful. He discounted the Latin volumes – while he could translate it, given enough time and a good dictionary, he was definitely not fast enough to start now. And his English was non-existent, so he couldn't even judge if any of those books were medical. Finally, he found a large volume in French, called "Women's Ailments." Did pregnancy count as an ailment? He started leaving through the book hectically, trying to find out.

What he saw was not encouraging – a long list of possible ways in which pregnancy and childbirth could go wrong, but nothing on how one had to proceed if one wanted it to go smoothly. Impatiently, he slammed the book shut and hurried back to Cosette. She was lying on the bed, her hands wringing the blanket, looking very pale.

"Madame – do you need anything? Maybe some… warm milk?" Warm milk? What the hell for? She's giving birth, you idiot, not trying to fall asleep!

Cosette shook her head. "Please, Monsieur…" She weakly reached out her hand, and he took it. Another contraction hit, and she squeezed. Hard. Painfully hard. Javert bit his tongue to stifle a moan. No matter what anyone said, this was definitely Jean Valjean's daughter. "Please…help…"

Help, yes! Javert felt the strong urge to cry for help himself. He was unequipped to deal with this.

Suddenly, Javert remembered the only possible source of help. He let go of Cosette's hand and mumbled soothingly. "Excuse me just a minute, Madame." He left the room and quickly walked down the corridor. The three dock-workers who had been injured in a loading accident wouldn't be any more useful than he himself, nor would the two little girls recovering from pneumonia in the next room. But that still left… Determinedly, he knocked on the door and entered. "Mère Suzette, I need you."

The old woman looked at him surprised, then she grinned leeringly, "Why, deary, haven't I told you that sooner or later…" She licked her lips.

Javert blushed and swallowed. "No! I mean, not me! Madame la baronne…"

"Madame Cosette?" At once, the old woman's face changed to deep concern. Cosette was considered an angel by all of her patients. "What's wrong?"

"The…the baby's coming… Monsieur le docteur is out… he can't be sent for in this storm…" As if to confirm his words, a particularly loud thunderclap boomed and the winds drove a new wave of hail against the shutters.

Mère Suzette nodded. "Quick, take me to her! I've birthed twelve young ones myself, and stood by friends and neighbors as they went through it – I know what to do." She was completely serious now.

Javert picked up the old woman, complete with the blankets she was wrapped up in, and headed for the door. "It's early! She wasn't supposed to… for two more weeks!" He couldn't keep the slight edge of panic from his voice.

"Ah, that's all right, deary," Mère Suzette patted his cheek reassuringly.

"It is?" Javert was too worried about Cosette to even care about the inappropriate touch.

"Probably. The date they give you – it's always somewhat of a guess. Could easily be a little off. And some babies come a little early and are just fine. Don't you worry."

Javert took a deep breath. The old woman clearly knew what she was talking about. He was beginning to feel a little better.

He entered Cosette's room, and settled Mère Suzette on the chairs by the side of the bed. The old woman smiled at the young one reassuringly. "The big day, eh? Don't you worry, Madame Cosette, Mère Suzette is here. I'll tell the pretty lad here everything he needs to do."

Cosette tried to smile at her, but then gasped as another contraction hit. She looked at Javert, her eyes begging for help.

"Well, deary, first you have to undress her. Just the lower half, mind you." Mère Suzette grinned, and Javert saw a twinkle of mischief back in her eyes.

"Un… undress her? I? But…"

"Well, what did you think? I was going to do it? I'm not strong enough to lift a spoon, remember? I can tell you what needs doing, but you're going to have to be the one to do it." At another gasp from Cosette, she added. "And get her a wooden spoon to bite on."

Javert paled. He wanted to argue that it wasn't proper, that it was inappropriate – but he knew the old woman was right. There was no choice, and the rules applied differently in emergencies. Neither Valjean nor Marius would ever forgive him if he stood by and watched something dreadful happen to Cosette or her child out of his overdeveloped sense of shame. What was more, he would never forgive himself. He steeled himself, trying not to contemplate the fact that for the first time since his own birth, he would be in direct contact with a woman's most private area. He remembered what his old instructor used to say – "If faced with something you don't understand, just follow your orders." Sure, the man had meant orders coming from a slightly more official source than an old hag with an overdeveloped sex drive, but the principle still held true.

He quickly got a wooden spoon from the kitchen and handed it to Cosette, who gave him a grateful look. Then he slowly approached the end of her bed, and found himself confronted with a confusion of articles of clothing he had no inkling how to undo. Setting his jaw firmly, he looked at Mère Suzette, pushed his own feelings far into the back of his mind, and said "Tell me exactly what to do, Madame. I'm at your command."

xxxxx

Javert had no idea how much time had passed. It felt like days, but of course he knew that couldn't be true. His mind was racing with pictures of Cosette's pain-stricken face, blood, Mère Suzette barking instructions, his own hands binding off and cutting the umbilical cord, sheer force of will all that kept him standing… As soon as Cosette had taken her child into her own arms for the first time, and had settled in to feed the baby, he had stumbled out of the room, instructing Mère Suzette to keep an eye on them both and yell if anything was needed. Now he was sitting on the front steps, his head resting in his hands. The storm had cleared up to a slight drizzle, and he welcomed the fresh water running through his hair and over his tired, leaden limbs. He had carefully picked a resting place within easy earshot of Cosette's room, but if Mère Suzette called for him right now, he was not sure he'd have the strength to walk back in there.

Minette was sitting besides him. She had tried to get him to pet her with rubbing and headbutts, but when he remained frozen, not even looking at her, she simply sat down next to him and watched.

A fiacre pulled up to the house. Javert glanced up and saw Marius and Valjean getting out. He stood up slowly, trying to decide what to say to them. As Marius handed the driver a coin, Valjean turned around, noticed him, and stared.

Marius turned around also, and, seeing him, exclaimed "Oh my God, Monsieur, are you hurt?"

Javert looked down at himself and realized he was covered in blood and slime. "No… not me…" Marius was by his side, trying to get a good look at him. Javert tried to pull himself together. His overtired mind focused on what seemed the most relevant bit of information right now. "You have a son."

"What?" both Marius and Valjean exclaimed at the same time.

"A son. Madame la baronne…"

"Cosette! Is my angel all right?" Without even waiting for a reply, Marius stormed inside, Valjean close on his heels.

Javert sunk back onto the steps. He exchanged a glance with Minette, and patted her head. "It's going to be all right now. Her family's here." Minette took the opportunity to climb into his lap. She started sniffing his blood-stained shirt with what Javert considered an inappropriate amount of fascination. Gently, he pushed her off, got up, and walked into the lobby. Monsieur le docteur might have questions he needed to answer. He started towards Cosette's room, then stopped abruptly.

Maybe Marius wanted him nowhere near his wife anymore, considering the inappropriateness of what he'd done earlier. His mind latched on to that thought. Of course not. They would make him leave now. It was only right. How could he stay in the same house with her, sit with her at the dinner table – she would never want to have to look at him again after… He winced at the memory of what he'd seen, what he'd touched. At the time, he had pushed his own feelings from him, but now it was all sinking in. He stood in the lobby, swaying slightly, not knowing what to do.

After a few minutes, Valjean emerged from the corridor that led to the hospital rooms. He was heading straight for Javert, his face awash in a confusion of different emotions. Javert straightened up, readying himself for an emotional father's reaction to his daughter being violated. He fully expected a punch, or at least a lot of yelling.

He was therefore entirely unprepared when Valjean pulled him into a hug, rested his head on his shoulder and whispered "Thank you. So much." He wanted to pull back, to ask Valjean what the hell he was doing, or at least to point out that the blood on him was ruining Valjean's good shirt… Why then was he just standing there, leaning against the man, and drawing… Strength? Comfort? Reassurance? He felt himself starting to tremble and wanted to hide it, but Valjean just drew him closer. "I know how hard this must have been for you. But if you hadn't…"

Yes. If he hadn't. Of course. What he had done had been necessary. He had helped Cosette, maybe even saved both her and the baby. How could he have assumed, even for an instant, that these people would blame him for it? He almost laughed at his own absurdity. Clearly, he wasn't thinking straight.

Valjean released him, but kept his hands on his shoulders. His voice thick with emotion, he asked, "You know you can never leave now, right?"

Javert looked up, startled. "What?"

Valjean's lips curled into a smile. "I'm not saying you're a prisoner. But… well… I don't know how to say this in a way that won't make you bristle, so just deal with it: you are irrevocably a part of this family now, and there's no way any of us would give you up without a fight."

Javert took a step back, and was glad that Valjean released his shoulders without a struggle. "I… that's… No! It's impossible! You know that…" God, there were a hundred reasons why this could never work. He knew there were. Excellent reasons. So why couldn't he think of a single one?

He spotted Marius coming up behind Valjean. He was carrying a small bundle from which a little red fist emerged. The young man was grinning so widely Javert briefly worried his head might split in two.

"Messieurs," Marius began, making a formal bow somewhat encumbered by his need to keep the bundle close to him and safe, "I present to you Georges Jean Pontmercy."

Valjean's face lit up like a Christmas tree as he stared at the little being in wonder. "You…named him for me?"

"Of course. Both our fathers. I hope you don't mind that we put Georges first, it's just that my father…"

Valjean quickly shook his head. "Of course not!" Then, shyly, "May I hold him?"

Without hesitation, Marius handed over his precious charge. Javert caught himself smiling at the scene before him, but became serious at once when Marius turned to him gravely.

"Monsieur Javert… I don't know what to say." He extended his hand, and Javert took it, only to find his hand clasped firmly in both of Marius's and shook with rather more vigor than he thought strictly necessary. "Mère Suzette told me what you did – and Monsieur, I couldn't have done it any better myself. Monsieur Javert… we are forever in your debt. Again. I mean… still…I mean…" Marius stopped for a moment, biting his lips – he had obviously confused himself. Javert took the opportunity to get his hand back.

Marius shook his head and started over. "Monsieur, Cosette and I have spoken, and we would like to ask you to be Georges Jean's godfather."

Just when Javert had thought the day couldn't throw any more surprises at him…

He saw Valjean looking up from cooing at the baby and grinning at him widely. The "What did I tell you?" was written on his face all too plainly.

"I… I don't understand."

"Please, Monsieur… after what you've done today… after everything you've done... We could not possibly wish for anyone better. We would not pressure you, of course, but it would mean the world to us if you'd consent."

Dumbstruck, Javert nodded.

Marius beamed "Oh, splendid! I'll go tell Cosette. She needs to sleep right now, but as soon as she's rested, I'm sure she'll want to thank you herself." He took the baby back from Valjean, who let go of him with visible reluctance, and left.

Javert sank down onto one of the sofas lining the lobby. "What just happened?"

Valjean sat next to him, grinning. "What do you think?"

Javert just shook his head, too overwhelmed to form words.

"So…" Valjean started suddenly. "About paying you…"

"What?" Javert felt completely thrown by the sudden, and ridiculous, change of topic.

"Well, now that you're staying we definitely have to work something out, don't we? Must I remind you that slavery is against the law?"

Javert caught the subtle emphasis on the last word. He shook his head mutely. Valjean was right. After what happened today, there could be no more talk of leaving, no more claiming that he was only here to pay off a debt – and really, had that ever been more than an excuse? He'd incurred the original wound while defending Cosette against a gang of ruffians – had he ever truly believed that her family would accept any payment for taking care of him afterwards?

"You remember the options?" Valjean asked as Javert bent down to absently stroke Minette.

Javert was fully aware that Valjean was using his spent and emotional state to shanghai him into something his pride would normally have forced him to fight tooth and nail. Or was he using his own state to _let_ Valjean push him into something he had secretly wanted all along? Did it matter?

Javert thought back to the conversation in the kitchen that seemed so long ago now. "If I let you pay me wages," he snorted, "You'll only pick some ridiculously high amount that I wouldn't know what to do with."

"So…?" Valjean prompted.

Javert sighed. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

Valjean grinned. "It's for your own good, trust me."

To his own surprise, Javert felt no urge to contradict. He just nodded. "I will take what money I need – and it won't be much – from the kitchen drawer… just like any other member of the family."

Valjean laughed, and threw an arm around his shoulders. Again, Javert surprised himself by leaning towards him, not away. Part of him was terrified of what he had just gotten himself into, but too exhausted to put up a fight. It wouldn't be easy to learn to live like this – it was beyond anything he had ever imagined for his life. He had never expected to be anything but alone, and now here he was, with a close-knit family that included a man and a girl he had hunted for years, a boy who could easily have blamed him for the deaths of all his friends, and a baby he had played midwife for. He did not know how this could ever possibly work out. But for this moment at least, he just wanted to believe Valjean's word that it would.

xxxxx

Javert was sitting on the balcony, looking at the stars. Minette was sitting on his lap, purring softly. He had finally decided that there was no point in forcing her to spend the nights outside.

He still couldn't believe what had happened, what he'd agreed to – and how happy and at the same time terrified it made him. He wanted to think that it would be all right, but he was anxious that he would do… well, he wasn't really sure what, but being entirely unaccustomed to family life, surely there were a million things he might do to inadvertently turn them from him.

The balcony door opposite his own opened and Valjean peered out, smiling at them. "Marius and Cosette are settled in their room with the little one."

Javert nodded. His conversation with Cosette earlier had been short, since she was still very tired. Nevertheless, the gratitude and blind trust in her eyes had been quite overwhelming. She had insisted he should hold the baby, even though he had been petrified he might drop or hurt the tiny being. But once Georges Jean was settled safely in his arms and had grabbed one of his fingers with a tiny fist, Javert realized that not only could he never hurt this little human, he would personally bring hell and all furies down on anyone who tried. This was another reason he wanted to stay, no matter his fears. But it was also another thing he was afraid he might do wrong.

Everything that drew him to this new life also seemed to bring with it a plethora of snares and traps that made him more anxious. He knew that once he accepted, truly accepted this family as his, he would not be able to cope with the pain of losing them, and he felt torn between the joy and hope of one and the fear and devastation of risking the other.

Javert realized that he had been staring off into space for several minutes. Valjean was still standing in the door.

"Is there… anything you need?" Valjean asked, looking at him searchingly.

Javert was about to shake his head, but stopped himself. If he wanted to learn how to live this new life, he'd have to be prepared to change his old ways. Taking a deep breath, and looking down at Minette rather than at Valjean, he shyly asked "Would you… sit with me for a while? I'm still working my way through… everything."

"Yes, of course!" The smile was clearly audible in Valjean's voice. He sat next to Javert and looked out at the stars, ready to give Javert whatever time he needed to start talking.

The End

_A/N: Please review – and if you liked it, keep an eye out for the next story in this series, "Whole." _


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